


The Curator

by Floptopus



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Gen, no comedy here only angst, sadly I can’t write that, this was supposed to be funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floptopus/pseuds/Floptopus
Summary: Based on the last scene of Day of the Doctor and a headcanon I can’t get out of my headEnjoy





	The Curator

“You know, I really think you might.”

The Doctor jumped. He’d been thinking about the under gallery, and how many works of art there were inside that his brother would have killed to get his hands on. Then he’d thought, well, why don’t I thumb my nose at him and become curator of this place? I’d be great at curating, he’d thought. Or maybe he’d said it aloud. Sometimes he did that.

Collecting himself, he turned to look for the person who had spoken to. Behind him was-

“I never forget a face.”

There, in the doorway, stood a man. A man who, despite the lack of scarf and the increase in age, looked exactly like the Doctor had in his adolescence. It was uncanny. And, yet, he wasn’t the Doctor. The psychic imprint was wrong. Familiar, but not his own. Who was he?

“I know you don’t.” The voice was almost exactly the same too, but with a smug tone he didn’t trust. “And, in the years to come, you might find yourself revisiting a few.” Who was this man? Did he really think the Doctor didn’t know how regeneration worked? He didn’t, of course, but that was beside the point. He knew enough to know that wasn’t impossible.

Mind you, very few people knew how little the Doctor knew about regeneration. Borusa, of course, but he had a type. Romana and Ollistra, but they were both definitely female. That left-

Oh, fiddlesticks, he thought. This face didn’t swear, sadly. He’d tried, but the words wouldn’t come out. If any time was for swearing, it was now. Brax hadn’t regenerated into him, of course, he was far too vain for that, but he had access to the technology to disguise himself physically and mentally. He’d also be willing to kill to get his hands on Time Lord art, the bastard. Ooh, a swear! Goodness, this situation really was bad. Was Brax still talking?

“-just the old favourites, eh?” 

How could he respond to that? How did he want to respond to that? He was torn between wanting to hug his brother, he’d thought he was dead, he missed him so badly, and wanting to slap him, the coward, what had he really done to Ace, why hadn’t he told him he was alive, he’d missed him so, so much-

“You were curious about this painting, I think.” 

Trust Irving to bring it back to art. Did he still have a collection? Of course he did. All that genocide and extinction must have led to thousands of works of art just sitting there, ready for the taking. Irving wouldn’t care about the lives like the Doctor did. It wasn’t his way. How had the two ended up so different?

“I acquired it in remarkable circumstances.” 

Oh, had he now? The Doctor felt a rare ember of anger smouldering in his gut at the thought that his own brother would be so _callous_ as to drop in on the fall of his own home to steal some art from his _own people?_

“What do you make of the title?”

The Doctor didn’t care about the title. Why would he care when his brother was standing right there, a glint in his eye, pretending everything was normal?

He forced himself to play along with the charade. “Which title? There’s two.” He couldn’t even inject the correct inflection into his voice. “No More, or Gallifrey Falls?” He was trying to make a point. It wasn’t a good one, but Brax caught it. The Doctor could almost see his moustache twitching underneath his disguise.

“Oh, well you see, that’s where everybody’s wrong.” Brax raised his voice slightly. Was he... trying to be comforting? “There’s only one title,” he continued. “Gallifrey Falls No More.”

Really? What did Irving know? Why couldn’t he just say it?

“Now, what do you think that means, hmm?”

Could he really mean, could he really be saying, Braxiatel wouldn’t lie to him, not about this. Would he?

“That Gallifrey didn’t fall?” He breathed, daring to believe it. “It worked? It’s still out there?”

“Well, I’m only a humble curator. I’m sure I wouldn’t know.” He was trying to run out. Not this time. 

The Doctor caught his arm. “Where is it?” He asked.

Oh, he wouldn’t give it away, of course. Irving was probably better off without their people trying to police his illegal Time meddling. Nonetheless, it was worth a try. 

He wouldn’t say. He deflected, made jokes about the face he was wearing, and rounded it off with a pun so bad that the Doctor was surprised Benny didn’t appear from nowhere to shoot him for it. 

He went to leave but, just before he could, the Doctor pulled him into a hug. “I missed you,” he murmured quietly. Brax stepped out of the hug, dazed, and the Doctor took that opportunity to slap him. “That was for Ace,” he said, trying to be intimidating. “And Romana, and Leela, and everyone else you betrayed and abandoned. But, mostly, it’s for not coming to see me sooner. I _missed you,_ Irving Braxiatel.” 

He looked taken aback. Of course he did, he’d just been hugged and slapped. He turned to leave, but as he did he murmured quietly, so quietly the Doctor almost missed it. “I missed you too, Theta.” 

And then he was gone. Back to Legion. The Doctor would have to visit next time he was alone, if he could stomach the smell. But, for now, Gallifrey.


End file.
